


His Only Defiance

by tredecaphobia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:03:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tredecaphobia/pseuds/tredecaphobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew that he should come to accept it. But, in the end, it was his only defiance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Only Defiance

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! I'm transferring (or will try to) all the stuff I posted up on lj to here. I hope some of you remember me! This particular fic was my first, and rather dark.

He knew he should come to accept it. It had been his way of life for such a long time, he could hardly think of a time when he had been on his own (save in dreams, with rye brushing against him, resting his head on the comforting, golden weight of another- it was something he refused to think of consciously today, because the tears would brim suddenly in his eyes, and he was always awful at hiding when he was really upset), free of that looming presence over him, hands lingering territorially on his body even in public.

So when Russia stood stolidly, in the way he was wont to do, smiling without speaking, and regarding Lithuania with those cold, hate-filled eyes, he knew (as he always knew) that he could not say no. And it didn’t matter when he did say “no”, because the end result was always the same, except he would be bleeding more, crying more, be in more pain, and the scars that were left behind would not fade.

It was his only defiance. Russia enjoyed a show, enjoyed more than anything watching Lithuania weep as he tremulously disrobed, and, ultimately, went to Russia, naked, flushed, and distraught. He had told Lithuania on one particular occasion that it was the quality of Lithuania’s skin that he loved the best- soft, and white, like snow (before he would destroy, devour that same skin, hands crushing, nails biting, heedless of the cries he created again and again).

It was Lithuania’s only defiance that he did not give Russia that satisfaction. He would rip articles of clothing from his body in a show of anger (which was only temporary, at best, before the fear kicked in again), skin stinging at the chill that seized his body, anger flushing his naked limbs, breath quickened with a forced, false courage.

He supposed, in the end, that it didn’t really matter. Russia would watch with the same, unfathomable expression. “Good boy.” He would say, and extend his arms.


End file.
